


Dimensional Shift

by ThrillingDetectiveTales



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, M/M, PWP without Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:54:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23389105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThrillingDetectiveTales/pseuds/ThrillingDetectiveTales
Summary: That’s Mike over there, angling for a quickie at the office, and since he’s presumably in the company of another male employee, that means—“Working lunches run long all the time,” the first voice demurs in a low, sweet rumble. The statement is punctuated by the soft sucking sound of a kiss. “I’m sure they’ll understand.”Donna whips back around to meet Rachel’s gaze, jaw dropped open and eyes glinting with vicious glee, and Rachel is instantly assured of its provenance. That handsome baritone couldn’t possibly belong to anyone but Harvey Specter.Rachel huffs a scoff, pressing her teeth against the inside of her lip, and shakes her head. Those sneaky little liars.
Relationships: Donna Paulsen & Harvey Specter, Donna Paulsen & Mike Ross & Harvey Specter & Rachel Zane, Donna Paulsen/Rachel Zane, Mike Ross & Rachel Zane, Mike Ross/Harvey Specter
Comments: 20
Kudos: 134





	Dimensional Shift

**Author's Note:**

> The very sweet **backflipintothevoid** prompted me over on Tumblr, for:
> 
> "Suits: Mike/Harvey + Donna/Rachel, where Harvey+Donna (or Mike+Rachel?) find out at the same time about each others relationships and essentially do the spiderman-meme?"
> 
> Aaaand I kinda just went ham with it. It's not beta-read and it's been a second since I wrote these characters, so this is probably a little cracky, but I hope it's fun to read anyway. Set in some amorphous time loop outside of canon where Mike and Rachel dated but broke up awhile ago and are now with other respective partners but have remained friends.
> 
> Enjoy!

“You’re gonna get me in trouble,” Rachel warns, following with heavy, reluctant steps as Donna tows her by the wrist back between the stacks in the file room.

“You and Mike used to make out in here all the time,” Donna rebuffs. Her lipstick today is a subtle, frosted pink that makes her mouth shine like satin where it curves into a sharp smirk. “Besides,” she continues, low and husky as she gets her back up against a shelf and pulls Rachel in toward her, “wondering if you’re about to get caught is half the fun.”

“I’ll remind you of that when we‘re escorted out for fraternizing on company property,” Rachel says flatly, but she boxes Donna in even so. One arm on either side of Donna’s waist, she curls her fingers over the lip of the shelf and leans in near enough that their noses brush. This close, Donna’s perfume surrounds her in a cloud of soft, delicate spice and the faint scent of sweet rose is clinging to her fiery curtain of hair.

Donna tilts her head just so and curls one hand loosely around the back of Rachel’s neck. She slides the other around Rachel’s waist, teasing down just far enough to get a cheeky handful of ass through her silk-blend skirt, and arches an eyebrow. “Guess I better make this worth the imminent job hunt, then, huh?” she asks, and closes the distance between them.

Rachel moans into the kiss before she can quite help herself. This is still new in so many ways, and it’s an electric thrill to feel the slide of Donna’s mouth against her own, the slick, practiced heat of her tongue. She’s a better kisser than most of the men Rachel’s dated by a significant margin—assertive but not overbearing and gratifyingly messy without tipping over into outright sloppiness. Rachel doesn’t know if her skill comes from being a woman, or from having a couple of years’ of experience on most of the guys Rachel’s been with, or if she’s just this talented because she’s Donna, but either way Rachel doesn’t plan to register any complaints.

She uses one hand to follow the curve of Donna’s hip up to her flank and on to her ribs, until she gets near enough to skim a thumb just below Donna's breast, back and forth in a lazy, sweeping arc where she’s most ticklish and sensitive. Rachel grins, satisfied, while Donna gasps and shivers. She might be new at this but she’s always been a quick learner.

“Dirty pool,” Donna mutters in a delighted rasp, and forgoes all commitment to decorum by reaching up to tangle her fingers in Rachel’s hair.

Rachel opens her mouth to protest—she has to go back to work after this, ideally looking like she _didn’t_ just get off with her secret girlfriend amongst a pile of case files from three years ago—but Donna doesn’t let her, sealing the sound off with a kiss that’s deep and brutal, surging up through her like a tempest. It’s all Rachel can do to hold on. She gets her arm around Donna’s back, fist tight in the fabric of her dress, and steps in until they’re pressed together from shoulder to knee.

Donna, for her part, hooks one leg around Rachel’s, reeling her in even closer and almost knocking her off-balance in the process. Rachel abandons her grip on Donna’s dress and clutches at the shelving instead. She knocks against a box as she does so, and a file left to balance precariously on top instead of being returned to its proper place flutters to the ground in a fan of color-coded and liberally notated legalese.

“Shit,” Rachel breathes, and turns her head to frown down at it.

Donna curls one hand tenderly around Rachel’s chin and presses a wet kiss to her cheek, glossy mouth sliding a little as she guides Rachel’s face back so she’s looking forward. “We can clean that up later,” Donna says, breathless and sly. She licks her lip, tongue a darker, wetter rose against the pink-smeared cushion of her mouth, and Rachel nods.

“Later,” she agrees, belly clenching. 

The next few minutes are a blur of sliding mouths and roving hands set to a chorus of little, choked-off noises. Donna has one hand up under Rachel’s skirt, with the pads of her fingers slipping in a teasing stroke along the damp fabric of Rachel’s lacy underwear, when the door to the file room swings open so hard it nearly ricochets right back from the wall.

A man’s voice moves with it, familiar but speaking at too low a volume for Rachel to pinpoint who it belongs to.

Rachel jumps up so fast from where she’s sucking slow, wet kisses along the line of Donna’s throat that she only narrowly avoids head-butting Donna right in the teeth. She clamps her thighs together around Donna’s hand on instinct, not that Donna seems to notice. Donna still has her back to the shelving but she’s craning her neck around to try and sneak a peek at their interruptors through a gap in the boxes.

There’s the distant shuffle of footsteps on the carpet and then the shelves rattle softly, a second voice piping up to respond to the first.

“I thought you had a deposition at two,” the second voice says, and that one Rachel definitely knows. She’s heard it a hundred times, a thousand, fond and warm and bending against a laugh just like it is now.

That’s Mike over there, angling for a quickie at the office, and since he’s presumably in the company of another male employee, that means—

“Working lunches run long all the time,” the first voice demurs in a low, sweet rumble. The statement is punctuated by the soft sucking sound of a kiss. “I’m sure they’ll understand.”

Donna whips back around to meet Rachel’s gaze, jaw dropped open and eyes glinting with vicious glee, and Rachel is instantly assured of its provenance. That handsome baritone couldn’t possibly belong to anyone but Harvey Specter.

Rachel huffs a scoff, pressing her teeth against the inside of her lip, and shakes her head. Those sneaky little liars.

Donna wiggles her fingers and Rachel flushes hot out the tips of her ears, relaxing her posture so that Donna can free her hand. The smirk Donna flashes her is fond and warm, with a little, wicked curve at the edge. She raises her hand to her mouth and licks her fingers clean one by one—quick, efficient, and so sexy that Rachel’s pulse throbs between her legs.

 _Dirty pool, indeed,_ she thinks. She’s about to open her mouth and risk a whisper when there’s a sharp, keening moan from the other side of the shelves and the whole structure shudders hard enough to dislodge a box near the top.

It’s mostly empty, which turns out to be a blessing when it topples directly down on top of them. Rachel yelps before she can help herself. Not that it matters much, as Donna elects to respond by raising her hand to her head, scrubbing at the spot where the corner of the lid hit her, and snapping, _"Ow,_ Harvey! Jesus!" over her shoulder.

A frigid, poisonous silence thunders from the other side of the shelving unit and Rachel bites her lip against a laugh. She takes Donna’s hand in her own and lifts it for a fleeting kiss, leaving their fingers tangled until she steps back far enough that holding on becomes uncomfortable.

She’s in the process of smoothing her skirt back into place and trying to wrangle her hair into some semblance of acceptability when Harvey comes stalking around the corner.

He’s in a sharp, slate blue pinstriped suit—no tie for once, with his collar unbuttoned. At first Rachel suspects it might be a concession to the summer heat, but then she notices that Harvey’s vest is off, the topmost button jammed into the second hole down, and there’s a narrow tail of heather-grey silk poking out from his left pocket. She bites her lip to keep from laughing, ducking her head so that her hair gives her some cover.

Harvey has his mouth pressed into a flat line and his jaw is clenched taut. One of his eyebrows quirks when he sees Rachel, but his attention slides right past her to where Donna is practically draped against the shelves, one elbow resting at head height with her hand buried in her hair and the other on her hip, looking as sleek and put-together as always by some trick Rachel hopes to master for herself one day.

"Harvey," Donna greets in a smug purr. She presses her lips into an exaggerated pout. "I hear your lunch ran long."

"Not long enough," Harvey replies grimly. He tucks his hands into his pockets, conveniently scooping that grey silk out of sight, and nods, "Rachel." He gestures to Donna, who is still posted up in her best Vanna White. "Wish I could fault your taste."

"Oh, I think I can find enough fault in yours for the both of us," Rachel replies, flashing him a close-mouthed smile.

Harvey smirks, rolling his eyes up and over his shoulder as Mike comes barreling around the corner, on a sharp, "Hey!" His shirt is untucked and his tie askew, hair sticking up like he just stuck his finger in a socket over his hooded gaze. There's a bittersweet clench between Rachel's ribs—it wasn't that long ago that she was the one leaving Mike all rumpled and soft-eyed. They're both happier, now, and she knows it, wouldn't go back for any amount of love or money, but a part of her will always mourn, just a little, for what could have been.

"You've summoned him," Harvey grumbles, arching his eyebrows at Rachel.

"Yeah," Rachel drawls, shooting Harvey a narrow, teasing gaze, "I'm not the one who dragged him in here for a little afternoon delight."

"I'm standing right here," Mike grouses. "Besides," he wags a finger between Donna and Rachel, "he that is without sin among you, and all." He shakes his head and looks at Rachel. "I can't believe you didn't tell me you were dating Donna!"

"Et tu, Brute?" Rachel scoffs, jabbing a finger in Harvey's direction.

"I better not be Caesar in this scenario," Harvey protests, looking back-and-forth between them both.

"Please," Donna snorts. "With that brooding brow-line and your perfect coif, you're clearly the Marc Antony of the outfit."

"Brando?" Harvey considers this for a second, mouth pulling down and brows arcing up. He reaches up to straighten his tie, realizes it's not there, and transitions smoothly into adjusting his lapel. "I could do Brando."

 _"I_ could do Brando," Mike agrees, wagging his eyebrows.

"Keep it in your pants," Harvey instructs, cutting him a sharp look. 

Mike meanders over to loop his arms around Harvey's waist, hooking his chin over Harvey's shoulder. "You were singing a very different tune five minutes ago," he murmurs, and smacks a kiss to Harvey's cheek.

Harvey sighs and scowls and raises his eyes to the ceiling like he's praying for a sudden smiting to deliver him from this humiliation, but he submits to the indignity of having his lover draped over his back without verbal protest, which is about as close to a public declaration of love as Harvey Specter is liable to get, in Rachel's considered opinion.

Since all relevant cats have been forcibly and inarguably ejected from their bags, Rachel steps in to curl her palm over Donna's shoulder and is rewarded when Donna reaches up to catch her fingers, guiding them forward so she can press a kiss to Rachel's knuckles.

"So," she says, and her breath is warm against Rachel's wrist, "can I expect to see the thousand dollars you owe me reflected in a bonus or were you planning to provide it in the form of a spa day? Perhaps an exotic liquor?"

"Ooh," Rachel coos, eyes bright. She turns a sunny grin on Harvey. "I vote for the last one." She flips her hair a little and taps her finger to her chin, peering thoughtfully at Donna. "Is it considered gauche to do body shots with hundred-year old scotch?"

Donna hems for a second, gaze narrow, and then says, "You know, it sounds like so much fun, I'm not sure that I care."

"I bet you a thousand dollars I'd figure out who you were dating _first,"_ Harvey interrupts. "There was no provision covering the outcome if we both found out at the same time."

Donna opens her mouth to protest, raising a hand with one finger extended, and is immediately derailed by the sight of her own watch. "Oh, damn it," she huffs out the side of her mouth. She turns, slips a hand back into Rachel's hair, and lays a simmering kiss against her mouth. "I'll see you tonight," she murmurs, brushing the pad of her finger over Rachel's nose.

"You," Donna continues, wheeling on Harvey with one eyebrow raised. "All the talk about working lunches running over was very romantic, but your deposition's on in five, so I'm going to need you to reroute that energy from your little head to your big one and mosey on to the West Conference room."

Harvey sighs through his nose, loud and long-suffering. "Fine," he mutters, and peels Mike's arm off his chest. He gives Mike's wrist a squeeze before he lets go and instructs, "You'd better be finished with the Whitehall files by the time I'm out."

"Harvey," Mike says, on a thin, disbelieving laugh, "there's like. Sixteen boxes."

Harvey lifts his eyebrows, following in Donna's wake as she tows him along by the lapel. "Guess you'd better get started," he says, and disappears around the corner.

"Love you too!" Mike calls. Rachel brings her hand to her mouth to smother her laugh, though it doesn't do much good since Mike starts up as soon as their eyes meet. The door at the front of the room swings shut and the two of them are left there, sex-mussed and giggling like idiots. It's a peculiar sort of déjà vu, but not one that Rachel thinks she particularly minds.

"So," Mike says slowly, tucking his hands into his pockets and offering her a little shrug. "Coffee?"

Rachel arches an eyebrow at him. "Don't you have sixteen boxes of files to get through?"

"Yeah," Mike sighs, biting his lip and nodding. "I finished those up this morning."

"Michael Ross," Rachel says, dropping her jaw and reaching over to cuff him affectionately on the shoulder. "You dog."

"Woof," Mike agrees. He tilts his head toward the door and grins. "What d'you say? I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"For the first time," Rachel considers, slipping her arm through Mike's elbow, "it feels like that photographic recall of yours is really going to come through for me."

"What can I say?" Mike shrugs, leading the way into the hall. "I'm a giver."

"Great!" Rachel chirps. "Coffee's on you."

Mike freezes just long enough that Rachel nearly stumbles, and then makes a pained noise and claps a hand to his chest as he picks his stride back up again. "I can't believe I walked right into that."

"Full frontal," Rachel agrees, as they circle around to the elevators. She cuts Mike a sly, lascivious smirk. "Is that the way Harvey likes it?"

"No," Mike drawls, reaching out to press the button, "he prefers to keep the suits on."

Rachel's laughter echoes all the way down to the lobby.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm over on [Dreamwidth](https://thrillingdetectivetales.dreamwidth.org) and [Tumblr](https://thrillingdetectivetales.tumblr.com) if you want to scream about Suits or any of my other million fandoms.<3


End file.
